


Inevitable Connection

by Project0506



Series: Soft Wars [124]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Family, Gen, gen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:07:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27420925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506
Summary: They meet, ones who might once have been family.  Ones who might be family again.
Series: Soft Wars [124]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683775
Comments: 27
Kudos: 306





	Inevitable Connection

“You have _stars_ in your heart!”

Bright warm evening has faded to cheerful night criss-cross covered in strings of dancing red-orange lights. Scents of spice and heat tumbles from open-fronted stalls nudged up comfortably against each other. This is a special sort of crowd, where it seems it’s impossible to get in anyone else’s way: humans and a spectrum of other species dart in and through each others’ spaces, snatches of laughter and cheers chasing. Light woodwind twines between revelers, heavy percussion rolls under their feet.

This is a time of celebration, for a People who came into this galaxy already knowing to grab their joy wherever it could be found.

Breha loves this People deeply. Every facet of the portrait they paint reminds her to look for the good, the Light, regardless of how punishing the Dark looms.

Breha crouches, and tucks her simple flowing dress neatly under her knees.

On any other planet, for any other official celebration, Breha would be swathed in the insignia of office. When she tours she is Alderaan: she bears her People’s good will, or thinly veiled dislike, and every word she breathes is of Alderaan. On any other planet, she would meet representatives in carefully coordinated encounters, every interaction planned and enforced by her lethally attentive guards.

Here, on this world, Queen Breha can don a light party dress and kneel to talk to bright-eyed children who trail up to tug the ends of her skirts.

After all, isn’t the Vod’alor himself twice escaped from the heavy ceremonial tunics he’s worn for the opening of festivities?

(Been wrestled, bribed, blackmailed into, if Bail’s muttering is to be believed. Though he’s apparently been convinced not to trade The Pants.)

Isn’t the Vod’alor himself accosted at every crossing by projectiles of small children to juggle or be swarmed by? Should a guest do any less?

Breha kneels and smiles. The child smiles. Thick waves of locks wisp out of the braids piled on her head to hang escaped across her forehead. She is beautiful among the celebration of their freedom, a little girl they call Vod just the same as every one of the little clone boys who’ve never had to see war.

Just the same as the man with an easy smile and shrewd eyes, who’d asked if she’d like to meet some of the Littles while already tucking her arms around a miracle just decanted into the world.

She already knows she and Bail will return to Lightning, to visit a little one with a gummy yawn and warrior’s grip who has yet to be named.

How easy it is, to love Vode.

Breha sets delicately on her ankles. The child drifts into a circle of just the two of them. “They’re pretty.” She reaches up, fist outstretched, to hover just over the pulsing glow. “Can I?”

“Of course my dear.”

Her hand is that vaguely grubby the way all children manage eventually, thin layer of snacks hidden under short, neat nails where a quick wet-wipe from a well-intentioned adult couldn’t reach. Her fingers are butterfly-light against Breha’s collar.

“They’re really warm.”

“They are called pulmonodes.”

It takes a few tries. She’s clever, she knows the way she wants the syllables to form even when they don’t do as she intends. Breha corrects her each time and does not once feel her typical distaste for repetition.

“Are they the Force? Because they look like Jedi stuff.”

Breha gives in to the urge to tuck flyaway strands back under brightly colored bands trying desperately to keep her hair in some semblance of order. She bears it with the resignation of one used to such. Strength to her poor parents, this must be a never-ending quest.

“Nothing so mysterious I’m afraid. They’re cybernetics.”

“What’re they processing?”

How does one explain life and death to a child who could be no more than five?

“My heart and lungs. They keep me alive.”

“Oh.” Understanding glows across her face. When the child is Vode, Breha realizes, the answer is ‘plainly’. “Your armor’s on the inside.”

Alderaan loves her queen. They celebrate her choice to display her victory over the foe that tried to claim her life, even if the foe was the ravages of her own body. How like Vode to teach their children exactly the same.

“Yes,” Breha whispers and presses a kiss to that tiny hand. “Yes sweetheart, exactly.”

Breha’s oxygen subsystem enters its refresh cycle. The status lights flicker like fireflies as each pump reports the all-clear. The child is entranced with the patterns that flit across the breadth of Breha’s neck. Her hand follows, left to right, heart to carotid, as careful as though touching something sacred.

“You should have _said_ you were a _painted_ warrior,” she murmurs, half-distracted. “It’s not polite to ask about colors if it’s not offered. And I’m not allowed to bully people to tell me things they don’t feel like.”

The refrain is as practiced as the patience with her hair. Oh her parents! Breha thinks blessings upon them. “That is very considerate, but I really don’t mind. This was a battle that I won.”

The child grins, fierce and satisfied. “ _Good_. K’atini! That means,” she continues before Breha has to ask for a translation, “that even when something hurts you kick its shebs anyway.”

Breha loves the Vode. She loves they way they so easily cut away what isn’t important, and how closely they hold what is.

“K’atini,” Breha laughs, and the little Vode warrior laughs with her.


End file.
